May I ask you something?" I say. "Why do you read books, when you could be outside, living a million different adventures every day?" "Because you can always count on a book to stay the same. EVerything else changes when you least expect it," she replies, bitter. "Families split apart, and nothing's forever. In books, you always know what's coming next. There are no surprises.

It doesn't matter what it is that leaves a hole inside you. It just matters that it’s there.

Although you hadn't asked why, it had less to do with you not noticing than with you not wanting to hear the answer.

Writer's block is for people who have the luxury of time.

The bottom line is that we never fall for the people we're supposed to.

A world that was crowded with people could still be a very lonely place.

[Jules] slides into a seat beside me with her hot lunch tray, sighing. “Four hours, thirty-six minutes, and twelve seconds till we’re out of purgatory for the weekend.” “Maybe later,” I murmur, still distracted by the day’s previous events. “So, let me show you how a conversation works. I say something, and then you say something back that actually relates to what I was talking about, as if you were even the least bit interested.” “Huh?” I say.